for the throne of Ujijain. He was driven by the belief that it should be his. Somehow he could separate that. I couldn’t. But maybe … maybe I could look beyond it? I stared back into the mirror. This time, I tried to focus on the space between the images as they changed. There, in that undefined nexus … that was my real desire. The mirror couldn’t show me the thing that pushed me toward that half-key to immortality because it was more. It was unquantifiable. A sylph with no face. It went beyond my need for vengeance or saving Nalini because it was the hunt for a legacy. It looked like nothing and everything. I blinked and the mirror shattered. The silken ropes crumpled. I gathered them quickly before they could loudly thunk onto the floor. The moment I pushed the ropes to one side of the hall, Vikram shot me a warning glance and we both raced down the hall to where a gossamer screen separated one room from the next. Vikram reached for it, but I knocked his hand back. I squinted, gesturing for the dagger. Was someone standing on the other side? I stared for a moment longer, but no shadow moved behind the screen. I nodded, sheathing the dagger, as Vikram pulled back the curtain. There, lodged into the silk as if someone had punched it into place, was a glittering ruby. “That’s it!” he said. “It has to be.” I swept another glance around the room, careful to avoid the ceiling when I caught the gilded shine of a hundred mirrors overhead. No sign of disturbance to the pristine cushions. Nothing knocked aside in haste. A hall hugged one side of the room, curved out of sight. I stared a moment longer, but no shadow flickered on the wall’s other side. Satisfied, I nodded to Vikram, who started walking to the ruby. Something shone in the facets of the jewel—a table surrounded by diners. Ice spangled the air around the stone. The cold of it formed a fist around my heart.
“Give me a lift,” said Vikram. “Maybe I can tear this thing out with the knife—” I had layered my palms together to give him a lift when I noticed something: Silence. When we had first stepped inside, the vishakanyas’ tent had been full of low murmurs, whispered encouragements and even the occasional moans. I crouched, skimming my thigh for the dagger slung around my leg. A low sigh and a crumpling sound broke the silence. Vikram had slumped to the ground. The copper of his disguised hair had darkened. His limbs lengthened and the barest trace of stubble began to shadow his shifting face. Panic raced through me. Before I could touch him, a low laugh echoed from the opposite side of the room. Eleven vishakanyas stepped from the shadows. They had been waiting. Invisible. “What did you do to him?” I heard a small gasp beside me and turned to see a beautiful vishakanya materialize in the air. She cowered away from Vikram. Her hand was still outstretched. Had she touched him? The effects of the Feast of Transformation had vanished. Vikram lay in his original jacket and trousers. His face was pale, and sweat beaded on his skin. Things that were once eye-level fell little by little. The borrowed height from the Feast of Transformation had disappeared and I had returned to my original size and shape. “A man!” gasped the vishakanya. She did not run to the others pressed in the dark corners of the room. Instead, she stared at me. “Don’t you dare touch him,” I hissed, brandishing the knife. I ran through what I knew about vishakanyas. Every inch of their skin was deadly. But they bled and died just like any mortal. At least, that’s what Maya’s stories always said. I just had to get past the skin.
The vishakanya sank into the corner, suddenly timid. “I only brushed against him for a moment … nothing that would kill him, I swear.” “He is not for any of you,” I said loudly, swinging the knife at the rest of the gathered poisonous courtesans. I stepped protectively over Vikram’s body. “We only came here for the ruby. That’s all. Let us take it and leave, and no one will be harmed.” “And if we don’t want you to leave?” asked one. Her movements held all the terrible grace of a nightmare. “You both came here willingly,” she taunted. “To know us. To see us. To take from us.” Twelve to one, I repeated in my head. If this were a normal fight, maybe I’d have a chance. But unlike any fight, the very touch of my opponents’ skin could kill me. I tore part of my salwar kameez and wrapped my bare arms. The vishakanya shrugged. “Admirable, but futile.” “I’m warning you—” I started, but the words awakened something in the vishakanya. She was no longer smiling. No longer wheedling. “No, girl,” she said, as cold as glass. “I’m warning you. That human boy is now mine.” “He was never—” “He is in our tent. He is not protesting. Therefore, he is ours. And now that he is mine, you should know that I am not someone to steal from. You see, girl, we like humans. Human desires are nothing like the desires of yakshas and yakshinis. Yours are a treat. There’s something different about human desire. How damp it is. The way it gloms on to your nightmares and silvers your hearts with a rime of frost. You will carry that desire, ripping up the earth at its seams if it means you can have what you want.” “It’s destructive,” said the vishakanya. “It’s beautiful,” chimed another. “And we will have it,” said another.
“So don’t take my toys, girl.” And then she lunged straight for me.
20 OF RUBIES AND SISTERS AASHA If Aasha wanted, she could reach out and touch the human girl. Kill her. But if she did that, the questions brimming inside her would go unanswered. Already, they felt out of control, as if they’d grown thorns and would soon cut her apart. Who could I have been? What life could I have called my own? That urgency to know made her feign a headache earlier and wait, crouched and cramped and invisible, in a corner of the tent where the Lord of Treasures had hidden a ruby. He had visited the tent in the afternoon, informing her sisters that a pair of human contestants might come searching for the jewel. If the humans failed, they were fair prey for the vishakanyas. Aasha had hoped to get to the humans first. She had planned to negotiate with them: answers to her questions about the human world in return for letting them escape with the ruby. But her sisters had been faster. Now there was no chance of conversation. Her sisters licked their lips hungrily. As one, the vishakanyas lunged. Hands darted for the girl’s ankles as she leapt for higher ground. Aasha pressed herself farther into the corner. Beside her, the man stirred. Her touch had imparted a snare of sleep. Not death. Some of her sisters used the technique as a mercy killing. Aasha used it to avoid killing altogether.
Her sisters knocked over the table the girl had jumped on, slamming her backward. The girl leapt to the ground, slashing her knife across the air and catching one of her sister’s arms. “Next time I’ll aim for your face,” said the human girl. “Give us that ruby. I have no desire to injure you.” But Aasha’s sisters only laughed and laughed. Wariness prickled through Aasha. They had plenty of desires to eat in Alaka. Maybe it would be easier to let the girl go and forget this business. The human girl turned her face to the ceiling, her eyes darting across the hundred mirrors knitted together. An eerie grin lit up her face. Her sisters pressed closer. The girl leapt, her fingers outstretched as she clawed for the golden tether anchored to one of the walls. Swiftly, the girl sank her knife into the rope that bound together all the mirrors. “Now that I have your attention—” said the girl, stabbing the rope. “You may have noticed that while I may not be able to kill each of you in one movement, the mirrors can.” Her sisters shrank a little closer to the ground. Aasha started inching along the walls, trying to get to them. The human girl swung her body, and the mirrors swayed dangerously to her rhythm, listing and groaning against their confines. “I can do it little by little,” said the girl, sawing delicately at the rope. She raised her knife: “Or I can start hacking.” Fear gripped her. If her sisters were injured, how would they feed? They’d wither to nothing. Aasha’s fear turned thin and cold, slipping in the space between her thoughts and numbing her nerves. She changed direction and ran to the girl. “Stop! Don’t hurt my sisters, please,” said Aasha. “I’ll do anything!” Something in the girl’s gaze relented. Mercy flickered across her features for only an instant. The next moment, her eyes hardened. “Anything?”
Aasha nodded tightly. The girl turned her gaze to the rest of the room. “Leave.” All of her sisters but one disappeared into the shadows. “You’re a good opponent,” said her sister, eyeing the girl with admiration. “You’d make an even better vishakanya should you seek a new outlet for your talents.” The girl let go of the rope, dropping to the floor with her fingers splayed against the ground. She stood up, and bowed. “My duties have already been claimed for this lifetime,” said the girl respectfully. “Then perhaps in the next.” Pity and gratitude flashed in her sister’s eyes. Aasha trembled. What had she gotten herself into? She only wanted to ask the humans of their lives. Now she was beholden to them. The idea of the mortal lands enchanted her, but humans were cunning and spiteful. The girl bent to check the boy’s pulse. Satisfied, she stood up and tore the ruby straight out of the tent. She tucked it and her knife somewhere in the depths of her skirt. “What’s your name?” she asked. Aasha blinked. She hadn’t imagined the girl would speak to her this way. Even the yakshas and yakshinis only opened their mouths to make demands. Give me something miraculous. Give me what I want. This girl was asking. Her voice wasn’t kind, but it wasn’t cruel either. She stumbled to find her breath. “Aasha.” “I’m Gauri,” said the girl. She prodded at the man on the ground with her toe. “How much longer will he be unconscious? Will there be any lasting damage?” “He will be awake at dawn. His mind should be fully intact.” The girl let out a sigh and dragged her arm across her brow. “You offered to help us, and what we need most is information. Do you know of a
way out of Alaka?” Aasha had forgotten how the rules were different for humans. For the Otherworldly beings, they could leave whenever they pleased. But if they left the game early, they forfeited a wish. “If you have not been granted permission from Lord Kubera, then you must seek permission from his consort, the Lady Kauveri.” The girl smirked. “She said nothing when she heard that only one of us could leave, so I imagine her permission has not been granted.” “Then you must give her something she wants.” She raised an eyebrow. “What would a goddess want? More resplendence? The simple pleasures of a mortal existence, like wrinkles? Age spots?” Aasha hesitated. Whenever the yakshas and yakshinis visited the tent, they brought bits of gossip with them. Some of which, she knew, should be ignored. But not helping the human girl could harm her sisters. She refused to let that happen. Besides … there was something she had heard. A rumor that kept the same shape no matter who told it. That in itself was a feat. So often, the beings of the Otherworld hated telling the truth, not because they preferred deceit, but because they preferred the taste of a decadent rumor on their tongue to the dull and brittle flavor of a truth. “Not an object,” said Aasha carefully. “It is said there is something she wants from someone. And he is in Alaka.” “Who?” “The Serpent King.”
21 THE GLASS GARDEN GAURI I was out of breath by the time I finally made it back to our chambers. Dragging Vikram along hadn’t even been the most difficult part of getting him to the room. It was wading through a sea of intrigued Otherworldly beings. A couple of yakshinis tried to buy him from me. Some of the offers included a voice that would lull a thunderstorm to sleep and the skin-dress of a crocodile. They refused to believe me when I said he wasn’t worth it. At one point, a rakshasa clapped me on the back, shouting, “Excellent find, human girl! Start around the spine. Always the best cut of meat.” I had no idea what to say, so I said thank you. It only occurred to me after I was tugging Vikram halfway up the stairs that perhaps I should have said, “I don’t eat people.” It had been a long day. My thoughts tripped over one another. I’d made plans for Aasha to meet us tomorrow at high noon, but that left far too many unknowns. She could be giving us the wrong information about the Serpent King or selling us to some unnamed enemy. And even if we had a lead for discovering an exit out of Alaka, it only mattered if we survived and won the Tournament of Wishes. I shuddered. One day in Alaka, and magic had forced me outside myself. I was walking into battle without a helmet. Nothing to protect us except the flimsy trust I’d placed in a stranger and that most terrible of
poisons: hope. Even now, I could feel hope seeping and settling under my skin. Growing. What shape would it take? Wings? Like something set free. Or mushrooms? Like something birthed in decay. The half-key thrummed and burned in my pocket. Throwing open the doors, I dropped Vikram to the floor and stowed the key on a table near the bed. Outside, dawn had begun to braid the sky with gold, trussing up what was left of night. Bone-deep exhaustion weighed my body. I threw down a pillow and blanket for Vikram, clambered into bed and fell asleep within moments. * * * The problem with having a room full of songbirds was that the room was full of songbirds. I’d barely gotten any sleep before twittering and rustling feathers roused me into waking. I propped myself up on one elbow and stared at the room. The walls shivered, light dancing over the iridescent green feathers. Vikram was lounging in one of the chairs—already dressed and impeccably groomed—and tossing the ruby key in the air like a ball. He caught my eye and grinned. “They say morning light reveals a woman’s true nature. My condolences to your future consort.” “It’s too early in the morning for bloodshed,” I groaned, gathering an armful of pillows and burying my face in them. “Also … good thinking about the transformation.” Vikram’s eyes widened. “What’s this? Praise from Her Beastliness in the morning? Are you under a curse that makes you friendly before noon? If so, how do we make it permanent?” I threw a pillow at his face. He tilted his head, dodging it with the barest amount of energy required. “In all honesty, we got that first key together,” he said. “We both thought of the riddle. Although I did have the brilliant transformation idea.”
I threw another pillow at him. “I fought a horde of poisonous women to make sure we could keep the key.” “I wasn’t conscious for that part.” “How convenient.” “I try.” “We did have some good fortune though,” I said, telling him about the bargain with Aasha and our plans to meet with her later. Unlike me, he didn’t even seem wary about meeting with the vishakanya, and when I confronted him about it, he shrugged. “The world moves to the tune of logic, even if it wears the face of chaos. Maybe it was supposed to happen this way,” he said, tossing the ruby between his hands. “At the very least, Aasha is part of the Otherworld and probably knows a great deal more about its power structure than we do. Meeting with her just might point us in the right direction and, wait, why are you scratching at your skin?” “Your optimism is making me itchy,” I grumbled, heading for the baths. “You’re welcome, by the way, for dragging you back here. I had a couple offers to sell you and almost considered it.” “Intriguing. For how much?” “A bag of gold, the ability to make thunderstorms go to sleep. Something else. Five goats?” “Just five goats? I’m worth at least ten. Plus a cow.” I rolled my eyes and headed to the bath chamber. After I bathed, I threw my hair into a hasty braid and entered the room to find Vikram pacing and studying a length of parchment. “What’s that?” “The Lord of Treasures sent us a letter. He offers his congratulations on solving the first trial and says that the second trial will take place at the full moon right after the celebration of Jhulan Purnima.”
A familiar twinge of panic plucked at my heart. Jhulan Purnima was a festival that celebrated the soul bond of the sacred lovers, Krishna and Radha. Radha was more than just the deity Krishna’s consort. She was the manifestation of his life energy. His very soul. Before Skanda had spread the rumor that I had taken a vow of chastity, the Council of Bharata used the festival to try and force me to accept a proposal of marriage from one prince or king or another. They claimed a proposal accepted on the day of Jhulan Purnima meant a lifetime of love. I rejected every offer. If I became queen, a strong alliance of marriage would be a key political move. I wouldn’t base that decision on something as fickle and slippery as love. “Jhulan Purnima would be the perfect time to ambush someone. Everyone would be drowsy or intoxicated—” “Gauri,” said Vikram, half indulgent and half stern. “It’s a sacred holiday. Besides, the world is not always trying to attack you.” “I just want to be prepared. If you prepare for the world attacking you, then at least half the time it doesn’t win.” “Spoken like a true queen.” “What? How so?” “Only royalty is perpetually paranoid.” “I’m prepared. Not paranoid.” I knew from experience that paranoid was a moment’s difference from prepared. The former closed your eyes and the latter opened them. The problem was that sometimes the difference announced itself only in hindsight. I twisted the ends of my salwar kameez, Nalini’s heartbroken face fracturing behind my eyes. “As you wish.” “Careful with that word,” I warned, before glancing outside. “There’s some time before we need to meet with Aasha.”
“Excellent. At least we have some free time—” “No such thing as free time. We need to explore the palace grounds,” I said. “We don’t know what the next trial will be so we might as well be prepared with potential arenas—” “I was talking about food!” cut in Vikram. “Don’t you want to eat?” “We can eat as we explore.” Vikram grumbled. After safeguarding the half-key, we left the chambers and headed downstairs. A sizable crowd milled around the main entrance. A pair of human twins walked past us, hand in hand. Mango pulp smeared their faces and Vikram stared after them enviously. In a mirror’s reflection, our faces stared back at us. Completely unaltered. Today, apparently, Lord Kubera had seen no reason for us to hide our true faces. A long ivory table ran down the length of the hall. Plates of cut fruit, savory uttapam, crispy potato sago and crystal cups full of steaming masala chai covered the entire table. Down the line, I saw the three women who went by the Nameless eyeing the foods. Only one of them carried a plate. Vikram caught their eye, ignoring me when I shook my head. Aasha hadn’t said what the Lady Kauveri wanted with the Serpent King, but I remembered hearing the Serpent King’s name in connection with the Nameless. What did they want with him? The Nameless walked to us, slow and sedate. “Not hungry?” asked Vikram with his usual brightness. “This is not for us,” said one. “We cannot eat this food anymore.” “It is for her,” said the second. “Our sister.” “Our missing limb,” said the third with a sad smile. “She loved uttapam.” Vikram started to say something, but the Nameless walked off without another word. I laughed. “If it lessens the sting of your rejection any less, I’m quite certain the demon on the other side of the room wanted to buy you for five goats. Shall
I make introductions?” “A sense of humor,” he said. “I couldn’t be more pleased with this transformation. Sometimes I think damp stones are more conversational than you.” He smiled. A true smile. I knew his smirks. His half-grins. Even halfhearted and lopsided upturns of his mouth. This smile was different. It was soft and unguarded. And it softened me in return. I had put that smile on his face and I felt strangely territorial about it. I wanted to keep it. We set off down one of the five main halls, food in hand. The main hall ended at a set of doors that opened into the courtyard where the Opening Ceremony festivities had taken place. The first three halls led to nothing except elaborate pools. Vikram swore that the statues had a tendency to jump from one place to the next, but that didn’t tell us anything. Down the fourth hall was a room marked with an engraved golden sign: The glass garden Curious, we stepped into the glass garden. The moment I pushed the door, familiarity rushed over me. The air felt balmy, spring sliding into the rainy season. It was my favorite time of the year in Bharata, where the clouds dragged rain-heavy bellies across the sky and the land swelled, as if making room for the torrential rains. Above us, stars pinned up the night, and thunderheads glided around the edges of the room before disappearing to dance in a different land’s midnight. But what was most miraculous was the garden itself. Every flower and shrub was carved of crystal. And yet it swayed. A living, breathing thing of glass and quartz, magic and memory. The garden seemed lifted from my memory of the old lawns in Bharata. Before he died, my father was known for his gardens. Out of spite, Skanda salted the land and built a fountain over the grounds after his death. But I never forgot them. Maya and I used to play there. Once, I even found a slipper that I thought belonged to an apsara dancer.
“I know this place,” I breathed. “That’s—” Vikram started and then stopped. “I was going to say impossible, but I’m trying to retire that word from my vocabulary for the rest of our time in Alaka. How?” “My father built a garden just like this.” We walked through the garden and I reached out, letting my fingers graze crystal vines and quartz lilies. Every touch felt like a word of whispered encouragement. “I love gardens,” I said. “You do?” I nodded. “I love watching things grow. I know that sounds strange for someone who was raised in war.” He eyed me. “It’s not strange at all. Why wouldn’t you hunger for life if you’ve only been surrounded by death? If you could grow anything in your garden, what would it be?” “Swords.” He snorted. “I should’ve guessed.” “Swords are very time-consuming to have commissioned. If I could pull them out of the ground with perfect balance and a sharp tip, I’d be happy and so would my blacksmiths. I’d also try to grow gulab jamun,” I said. Nothing was better than those warm syrup-drenched sweets. “I just want to pluck it off trees and eat it on the spot.” “Vicious and sweet,” said Vikram, shaking his head. “Beastly girl.” “You like me, don’t lie,” I teased. “I couldn’t lie if I tried,” he said quietly. At the end of the walkway was a small note written on an ivory plaque: All things can grow again. Each word was a layer of light. They slid into place inside me, gathering dimension and brightness until the words had reshaped, refocused and
returned my hopes. I closed my eyes, and I almost felt my sister beside me, her hands steadying my shoulders, her dusk-dark eyes brimming with worry. When we left the garden, I carried the light of those words with me. In the fifth and final hall, empty birdcages twisted down from a gold ceiling to form a sparkling lattice. Each cage door swung open, poised like a jaw fit for snapping. At the end of the darkened hall, a flurry of wings ripped the silence. We had walked closer, following the sound of frenzied, beating wings, when I grabbed Vikram. Someone was waiting at the end of the hall. Kubera. He sat cross-legged on the floor. I scanned the room, but he was alone. His head tilted up as he watched the birds above him. I stepped backward, angling for a quick exit. “Hello, contestants,” said the Lord of Treasures. “Would you not greet me?” I dropped Vikram’s arm. Together, we bowed. “We did not want to disturb you. You seemed pensive.” Kubera grinned. “Watching stories always makes me pensive.” I frowned. He was looking at birds. Admittedly, they were very strange birds. They slipped into new shapes as they flew, donning new colors with every swoop. It was impossible to keep track of each bird in that writhing mass of wings. Above me, I caught sight of a snowy bird with a crest of diamonds. Gold and bister feathers grew over the white. The feathers crumpled and contracted. In the next moment, the bird had turned into a sparrow. Kubera clapped, and the sound thundered in the darkened hall. Every bird stopped in midflight. Not even their wings twitched. Kubera hummed and a single emerald hummingbird broke from away from the mass and dived for his palms. He gestured us closer. “Each of those is a tale being told,” said Kubera, pointing to the birds. “You see how they change in the telling? It reflects the tale. For example,
this bird is your story with the vishakanyas.” He tossed the bird into the air, and the sudden hum of its wings sent a splash of images waving in the air—Vikram at the Feast of Transformation, the ruby sparkling in the tent. “But this is just one story,” said Kubera. He snatched the hummingbird out of the air, whispered to it, bent its wings into a new shape and threw it aloft. Now, the bird had a tail like a peacock, the story twisted to show Aasha hiding in the hall beside the ruby, her fingers tracing the blue star at her throat and her eyes wide with want. “You see,” said Kubera. “Nothing is yours. Not even a story is yours, though you may lay claim to it with the teeth of your mind.” I watched as the bird spiraled over our heads. It kept changing the higher it flew, to the story of a patron who had bartered a year of his life just to see his dead mate through the vishakanyas’ arts, only to be forced to flee when my fight with the vishakanyas drove him from the tent. I hadn’t even considered the line of Otherworldly beings who had been waiting to visit the vishakanyas. I assumed they were all there seeking pleasure. “Stories are boundless and infinite, ever-changing and elusive,” said Kubera. “They are the truest treasure and therefore my dearest possessions. Each contestant grants the world a new tale, pours a little magic back into the earth. That’s all that will remain once the world dons the clothes of a new age and the Otherworld seals its doors. You will see. If you survive.” “Even the ones who die?” I asked, sharpness creeping into my voice. “What’s a story without a bit of death?” said Kubera, grinning. “I’ve always loved tales of broken lovers who roam through countrysides singing their stories of woe and separation, their honey-sweet longing for the next life when they can suddenly be reunited. It makes other people happy, you see. It makes people grateful that it hasn’t happened to them. I like making people happy!” Kubera clapped his hands. “Well, I should not keep you.
Enjoy the celebrations,” he said. “And if you do nothing else, give me a tale worth telling. Worth keeping.” When we left, I turned his words over in my heart. Kubera might want to harvest a story out of our trials, but he’d let something slip: A story had no ownership. A story could break its bones, grow wings, soar out of reach and dive out of sight in the time it took just to draw breath. It meant we weren’t walking a cut path. We carved it into existence with every step.
22 NO TOUCHING AASHA Aasha hadn’t slept last night. Instead, she snuck off to sit at the end of a stone path that connected the courtesans’ tent to a running stream. Bright green grass flanked the path, taunting her. Her fingers ached to feel the ground. Would grass feel hard and cold, like glass? Or would it yield like a gossamer thread, soft and fragile, before snapping abruptly beneath her palm? Experience stilled her hand. Any living thing she touched blackened and shriveled. She didn’t even dare to dip her feet in the water out of fear for any hidden wildlife. Aasha stood and walked back to the tent. Soon, she would have to meet Gauri and the human boy. Part of her thrilled to spend time in human company. Even last night, she couldn’t tear her eyes away from Gauri. The way she was breathless and brittle and reckless. Aasha wanted to look like that. Like something alive. Sometimes Aasha strained her memory to the days before the vishakanyas collected her, but all she could recall was a rain-washed field and warm hands rubbing coconut oil into her scalp. Those wisps of the past told her nothing. The other part of Aasha felt nervous about meeting them. Even her sisters seemed worried. Since last night, they had been treating her like a glass doll.
“It can’t be that bad,” Aasha said, when one of her sisters tried, once more, to stop her from meeting Gauri. “We were once human after all, so —” “Never say that in this tent,” said one of her sisters. “We may bleed and birth the same way, but that is where the similarities end. We are different. Only we carry the Blessing in our veins. They do not.” After promising to keep their counsel, Aasha hurried to the banyan tree. She caught sight of them as she walked up the hill. Gauri stood tall and fierce. She held herself as if she were made of nothing but knife points, so sharp that Aasha cast a glance at her shadow, wondering if she had torn it to strips just by standing above it. Beside her stood the boy who had disguised himself as one of them. He was handsome, with a face and figure that some of her sisters would have wanted to touch regardless of his desires. He leaned against the banyan tree, easy and graceful, but with a keen brightness to his gaze, as if he could see more than most. Gauri walked forward. “I was afraid you wouldn’t show up.” “A being of the Otherworld always keeps their word.” Gauri only lifted an eyebrow. As if to say, We’ll see. “This is Vikram.” The boy flashed a smile. Aasha sniffed the air cautiously, tasting their desires and searching for any threat to herself. But their desires had not been greedy or lust-filled. At least, not lust directed at her. “You said there was something the Lady Kauveri wants from the Serpent King. What is it?” “Venom.” Surprise flickered on Gauri’s face. “Why would anyone want a naga’s venom?” Aasha had never been one for gossip. She’d always been the one at the edges of the room, listening to her louder and more excited sisters as they traded news from the Night Bazaar. It never seemed wise to talk about other
people. But she had given her word to help the humans. And she felt rather proud of herself in that moment. No one wanted her killing or enchanting touch. They wanted information, and it cost her nothing to give. Even better, she had control over what information to divulge. “It is said that whoever possesses the venom of the Serpent King can control him.” “Why would she want to control him?” asked Vikram. Aasha was about to answer when Gauri cut in, her voice low and harsh — “For vengeance. To retaliate for some wrong,” she said. She looked at Aasha. “Am I correct?” Aasha nodded. “They say he kidnapped the Lady Kauveri’s sister and forced her into marriage. It wouldn’t be the first time that a demon naga would do such a thing.” “Is he a demon?” asked Vikram. “He’s a descendant of the cruelest of all the demon nagas. Kaliya.” Gauri’s expression darkened. “How do we get his venom?” “I’m not sure,” Aasha admitted. “But first you have to get access to his kingdom. There is a pool on the far side of the orchard that bears his crest and invitation.” If her sisters were here, they would have told her that she had done all she needed to and dragged her home. But Aasha lingered. The moment she returned, her world would fall back into its ordered chaos. She would keep her elbows tucked at her side when she walked so that nothing living brushed against her skin. Night after night, she would unspool a person’s desire, slaking her hunger and trying to forget that the moment the beings left her arms, they would touch someone they loved, place food upon their tongue that would keep flavor and never turn to ash, maybe even sink their hands into the dirt simply because they could. Not yet. Not yet. “I can take you?” she offered.
23 THE SERPENT KING’S INVITATION GAURI Aasha unnerved me. She stood too close. In war, the bulk of a soldier proved its own quiet threat. But Aasha wasn’t taking up space to show that her presence was deadly. She stood and leaned toward us with a keen-eyed want. Not hunger. Not lust. I had seen both in the eyes of a vishakanya. This was something else. I didn’t trust her want, whatever it was. Before I could tell her no, Vikram drew me away. “If you’re going to tell me to trust her, this is a good time to remind you that you were knocked unconscious by her while we were nearly killed by her sisters.” “I’m not contesting that.” “Then why did you pull me aside?” I asked. “We can find this pool ourselves. She offered information in return for mercy. We’ve both kept our word. The end.” “Maybe she could be of more help,” he said. “She knows this place far better than we do. And she wants something. Can’t you see it in her eyes?” “I can, which is why I don’t think she should be trusted. What if she’s just hungry?” I pointed at the two of us. “She can’t help but want to touch us. And if she does that, we die.” “I can’t help being irresistible.” “A raksha didn’t even think you were worth ten goats and a cow.”
He scowled. “Leading us to a pool doesn’t place us in her immortal debt, Gauri. Sometime it’s more efficient to trust people and ask for help.” “That sounds wonderfully efficient until the day you find a knife pressed against your throat.” “Have some faith.” “Between faith and distrust, which one is more likely to keep you alive?” “And which one is more likely to let you experience living?” I threw up my hands. “Why is everything so philosophical with you?” He shrugged. “I like thinking.” “After she gets us to the Serpent King, that’s it. We wish her well. The end.” Aasha was waiting for us when we returned. As we walked to her, the sunlight caught the underside of the leaves, illuminating her features into such heartbreaking loveliness that I found it hard to believe any man would welcome her into his bed without suspicion. But then I remembered the dumbstruck look on Vikram’s face when he first saw Aasha. I would be lying if I said I didn’t feel a flicker of envy. But envy did not make one lovelier. Mother Dhina had taught me that. Beauty, coveted though it was, could not outlive you. Only actions would. I never forgot that. In the harem, I might’ve disliked some girls for the ugliness in their hearts, but never for the beauty of their faces. Aasha led us back through the courtyards. I expected strange glances like the ones from yesterday, but the Otherworld was too preoccupied in its own tasks. A horse with a translucent belly trotted past us. Between its ribs, pinpricks of light winked around a miniature alabaster city. The ground shuddered as a bull-aspect raksha dug a hole with its horns. Beside him, disembodied hands torn off at the wrists reached into the hole, tossing out dirt and carrying clumpy roots. The three feast tables from yesterday had nestled closer to the ground, their wooden legs tucked beneath them as if
they were resting. The magic of Alaka felt tame. Even the air carried no fragrant seduction. No childhood memories nuzzled the back of my thoughts or tried to lull my heart from racing. All I could smell was damp, upturned earth and a trace of fruit on the wind. When we left the feast tables, a hidden grove sprang into view. Dazzling trees sprawled in every direction, their limbs tall and spindly, reaching into the sky as if to etch their names onto the world. There were trees of gold and trees of bone. Trees where instruments swayed gently like musical fruit. Trees where letters were pinned to the trunk, scrawled in handwriting too distant to decipher. I looked behind us, checking the perimeter for any sign of the Nameless. If they knew we had any clue where to find the Serpent King, they might have been spying on us. Or plotting something worse. “What do you know about the Nameless?” I asked. Aasha frowned. “I do not know of them. Then again, this is my first and last Tournament of Wishes. I am only newly one hundred.” “I hope to age half as well,” said Vikram. “Do they not live as long in the mortal lands?” asked Aasha. “Well, not as long as that,” I said. “Half the children of Bharata have no names because they have not lived long enough to prove that they can carry it well into adulthood.” “So you are very old then?” I laughed. “I guess. I’m eighteen.” “A child,” breathed Aasha, her eyes widening in wonder. “And your mate?” The tops of Vikram’s ears turned red. “Eighteen.” I immediately tried changing the subject. “I don’t understand why Lord Kubera would even invite the Serpent King to the Tournament if the Lady Kauveri hates him so much.”
Aasha only shrugged. “Any Otherworld being who played in a previous Tournament is always invited to play in the next game. Most of the Otherworld is invited, but some choose not to come because they know their presence will only inspire fear. The Lord of Treasures even invites the Dharma Raja and the Queen of Light. Can you imagine what would happen if they came?” She shuddered. “Nothing but chaos. Although I heard they sent a gift since they would not attend.” We walked in silence as Aasha stepped expertly around the strange groves. In the distance, water smoothed over rocks. Frost hung in the air, and a fine mist spilled over the tree roots. “What do you eat?” asked Aasha suddenly. The question broke from her as if she could no longer fight the strength of it. I eyed her. What if she wasn’t staying close because she was angling to feed our desires or hurt us? What if she was just … curious? “Fruits, vegetables—” I said. “Sometimes a human if you have no choice,” added Vikram. Aasha looked startled. “I read that somewhere,” he said defensively. “Don’t tell her that!” I hissed, turning to Aasha. “It’s not true.” She flashed a smile, but it looked more like a wince. “And you may leave from your home at any time?” Longing filled her voice. “Not anytime. It just depends what your responsibilities are and who you are.” Aasha nodded, but I could tell that answer had only created a thousand more questions. The longer we walked, the more the trees changed, tapering off into clumps of straggling saplings or growing sparse and skeletal. A pool of milky white water wound through the land like a slender ribbon. We followed it until we came to a still pond. Not even the trees kneeling around
the water’s edges cast a reflection. Enchantment burned in the air, creating pockets in the sky that peered into different worlds altogether. “This is the entrance to his kingdom?” asked Vikram. He stepped forward, leaning over the pool, and immediately jumped back. “What is it?” “There’s writing in the water.” “That is the invitation of the Serpent King,” said Aasha. “If you solve it, he will grant you an audience. Otherwise you must catch him when he chooses to surface.” Aasha and I joined Vikram beside the water’s edge. Here, even the sky seemed different—gray and drained of color. Not a single cloud moved in the sky, and the light mist from earlier had thickened into smoky claws that scraped across the earth. To one it is invisible Yet be careful if you lose much To some it is everything A history to clutch Though it is life, it cannot buy time Speak wrong, and I will take it as mine I groaned. “Another riddle?” Vikram grinned and immediately tented his fingers together. Aasha looked fearful. “I would not speak before this pool,” she whispered. “If the Serpent King is in a foul mood, he may take even your musings as an answer. And you have only to look around you to see the result.” The mist folded back upon itself, revealing a boneyard on the opposite bank. I stepped back, my ears pricked for any sign of the water rippling or branches cracking around us. Nothing happened. I breathed a sigh of relief. I thought Vikram would be comforted too, but the boneyard had transfixed him. He refused to look anywhere else for a long while. Only when I tugged
on his elbow did he step away from the water’s edge. Once we were a safe distance away from the pool, Vikram folded his arms, gaze fixed on the ground. “There were bones there,” he said hoarsely. “People have died trying to get to the Serpent King.” “Maybe it’s just a morbid decoration.” He whirled around to face me. “This is not a joke, Gauri.” I raised an eyebrow. “What’s gotten into you?” “Nothing,” he said tersely and gave his hair a quick tug. Aasha eyed us knowingly, but if she could somehow read his thoughts, she did not speak his secrets. As we walked back to Alaka’s courtyard, the sun had begun to set. A crowd of raucous yakshas had gathered near the entrance of the groves. The moment they saw Aasha, a drowsy grin slid onto their faces. “Come here, beauty,” one of them sang. “Let us touch you.” Instead of threatening or maiming them, which is what I would have done in an instant, Aasha seemed to stumble. She shrank a little on herself. I glared at the yakshas, but I wasn’t going to risk fighting with a magical being unless I had no choice. Instead, I walked to Aasha’s other side. I was a flimsy barrier against magic, but it was better than nothing. Vikram stayed where he was. “They won’t attack you?” I asked. “They might. It has happened before,” she said quietly. “But for them to reap any pleasure from the desires I summon, I would have to want to touch them.” “Then there’s no reason for them to attack you. Don’t be scared.” I didn’t know why my first instinct was to protect her. She was a thousand times deadlier than I’d ever be. But her face when she saw the yakshas tugged at my heart. I’d seen that expression whenever the harem eunuchs announced Skanda’s visits. It was worse than fear. It was
hopelessness. It warped a person’s face—flattening their eyes, crimping their lips into grimly determined lines. I recognized it. And I hated it. “That’s not why I am scared,” said Aasha. “They don’t need to force me. They always know that I will want their desires just as badly as they want to be shown them.” Aasha reached up and delicately traced the blue star at her throat. “I don’t want to want their desires. But it is my sustenance. And they know it.” I shuddered. “That doesn’t make it right.” “It is the way things are.” “It shouldn’t be,” said Vikram. When we got to the banyan tree, a group of workers had already begun to assemble the vishakanyas’ tent. This time, the tent resembled a peacock. Gold talons dug into the earth, and a tail the size of a village swept out as a grand carpet and entrance, speckled with sapphire and emerald. Silver and gold threaded through the false feathers, and the design of the bird’s neck arched in a graceful welcome. “Thank you for your help,” said Vikram. Aasha nodded. “My words are my honor.” She left afterward, disappearing down the hill and into some unseen quarters where the vishakanyas presumably took rest before entertaining the crowds of Alaka. I turned to Vikram. He had been quiet since he’d read the riddle of the Serpent King. “Are you well?” “Yes,” he said, but his voice was biting and none too friendly. “Those bones … I just can’t shake them from my head. I hadn’t realized … that is to say I had forgotten about death.” “After all we’ve been through, you’re just now becoming concerned about dying?” I almost wanted to laugh. He lifted his gaze to mine. “It just feels different now.”
Now it was my turn to fall silent. I stared around us. The setting sun had carved out the world into a landscape of gems. Hills red as garnets. Pools full of sapphire fire. And the people had also been transformed by the falling sun. Whatever light remained in the sky seemed to race eagerly to illuminate Vikram. If I hadn’t known him, I would have thought he was some Otherworldly being who had come to try and steal something from me. Like my voice. Or the memory of my first kiss. Or something far more precious. “The risk matches the reward,” I said, trying to keep my voice light. “Gauri,” he said softly. Too softly. As if my name were made of glass. I stepped back and forced a smile. “Any more time with me, and you might truly lose your mind. Maybe we’ll come up with the answer to the riddle faster if we take some time to think on our own,” I said quickly. “I’ll meet you here by nightfall.” Something in his gaze retreated. “You’re not going back to the Serpent King’s pool, are you?” “I haven’t gotten this far into existence on stupidity.” He nodded and flashed a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Don’t start now.” I smirked, waved him off and stalked back in the direction of the groves. I had no intention of going to the pool, but I wanted to think alone, far away from where he could distract me. I couldn’t shake the sound of my name on his lips. It slinked through my thoughts, spreading roots and thorns. Even though all he said was my name, a question had gathered form in his voice. As if … as if he was asking whether I would let him worry about me, and let him rest his fingers at the nape of my neck, and let him memorize my unimportant secrets that would never bring kingdoms to their knees but still pinned my soul in place. Away from him, I knew the right answer: No.
Our situation was strange. We’d been thrown together in a competition for something we both desperately wanted. Needed. If we didn’t win, what home would have us? I said I wanted to return to Bharata, but the Bharata I wanted—one with Nalini safe and my freedom secured—didn’t exist without a victory. There was no future without victory. If we didn’t win, we would be like ghosts: our forms held together by the sheer force of our unfulfilled wants, with nothing left of our lives but what had been and what could never be. In the face of that fear, maybe the mind couldn’t help but scrape together feelings toward the only person we had a connection to. That was all it was. A consequence of survival. I repeated this to myself as I marched toward the grove of magical trees. Every time I heard a sound behind me, I would turn, expecting Vikram. After the first couple of times, I realized I wasn’t expecting him. I was looking for him. I shook my head and concentrated on the riddle. To one it is invisible Yet be careful if you lose much To some it is everything A history to clutch Though it is life, it cannot buy time Speak wrong, and I will take it as mine My first guess was memory. But memory wasn’t life. And my second thought was breath. But breath has nothing to do with history. I was so deep in my thoughts, turning the riddle over and pushing out the memory of Vikram’s smile, that I almost didn’t see the three people standing before me: The Nameless.
24 A PLANTED HEART GAURI “You should not be here,” they said. I dug my heels into the ground. “Why not? Lord Kubera has not forbidden the contestants from entering this part of Alaka.” “We are honoring our lost sister,” said the first, turning her gaze on me. She may have looked young—lovely, even—but her gaze held that flat heaviness of someone whose spirit was ancient. As one, the Nameless reached for the blue ribbons around their throats. Maya’s necklace pressed against my skin. I tried to honor her, to live up to the stories she told me. But I’d failed. “I’m not preventing you from honoring her. I was just walking around the groves.” “This grove is for her. Because of her. Because of us. Choose another.” I looked behind them to the bone white trees. When we walked past the grove earlier, I had dug my nails into my palm, fighting the urge to wander through this haunted grove. Something about it called to me. But what? No leaves sprouted from their ivory branches and no fruit graced their boughs. No earth covered the small grove; it was as if someone had shoved slivers of bone into ashes and called them trees, and the bones had forgotten how to be anything else. “Queen Tara never liked visitors to her orchards anyway.”
“Queen Tara?” I repeated incredulously. I knew that name. She was the missing queen of the vanaras, the one who had planted demon fruit and been cursed as a result. “This is her grove.” Without warning, hunger coursed through my veins. I might not know what the tree of demon fruit looked like. But my blood recognized this place. The Nameless stepped backward, and one broke from the trio to place her hand against the bone white tree and rest her forehead to its bark. “Planted of a sister’s heart, unwillingly given,” said the first. “Fixed to the ground of a beloved’s bone, unwillingly given,” said the second. “Watered by tears, unwillingly given,” said the third. Their words chilled me. “And what of the demon fruit?” I asked. The first, who had not removed her hand from the bark, stroked the tree. “The fruit lies in the heart of the tree. But it can only be taken by a man who has given away his heart. None else can take the fruit. And yet no man may eat of it.” “Why would you ever honor your sister’s memory in a place like this?” The Nameless smiled. “It is her heart that the Queen took. This is our sister’s legacy. Our vengeance. This is the last Tournament. When we win, our sister will be honored forever.” * * * I got away from them as fast as I could. I muttered something vaguely polite right before running to Vikram. I didn’t care that it wasn’t even nightfall yet. The words of the Nameless rang through my thoughts. My tongue felt thick and my mouth turned dry. I had eaten that fruit. I had eaten something grown from bones, heart and tears. Worse … I craved it. That
bite of power. Of invincibility. Maybe the demon fruit brought a curse with it, but to me it felt like safety. Vikram hadn’t moved from the spot where I’d left him. Only now, his face was pale. And his hair was tousled, as if he had tugged at the strands one time too many. “I figured out the riddle,” he said. “The answer is blood.” It made sense. You could not see your own blood. If you lost too much, you died. Some people swore by their lineage. And blood was life, although having more of it wouldn’t change the time of your death. “I think he wants us to place some of our blood in the pool before he will let us enter.” My fingers trembled from my meeting with the Nameless. I clasped them together. I didn’t want to die here. I didn’t want to become like them, wandering through this palace and playing a game over and over, hoping for a different outcome. But I needed strength if I was going to win. “I’ll meet you by the pool at first light,” I said. “Where are you going?” “To steal sleep and hope I don’t remember the nightmares.” “On the night before possible death with all the food and festivities and dancing all around us, you want to go to sleep?” “Celebrating as if it’s your last night on earth generally makes for reckless mistakes the next day,” I said, folding my arms. “I solved the riddle. I demand a reward.” I narrowed my eyes. “What do you want?” Vikram nodded to the revels taking place beneath the banyan tree. The music already made me feel heady with the frenzied drums and the musicians’ lilting song of yearning and claiming. He stepped closer, to the point where I had to look up to meet his eyes. A vulpine grin crept onto his face. In that moment, he looked like mischief and midnight, like a
temptation that always slipped away too fast and left you at once relieved and disappointed. “I want one dance with you.”
25 A TALISMAN OF TOUCH VIKRAM The bones had stood out too sharply. A little too knowingly. As if they had been waiting for him to find them. Maybe those bones belonged to someone like him. Someone who believed that magic meant they were destined for more. Maybe they believed it right until the moment they died. Vikram wasn’t so blinded by the idea of magic that he thought it was a toothless and beautiful thing. He knew it bit. But he hadn’t imagined it could bite … them. If he lost, what use would magic be? The life that waited for him in Ujijain was a husk of an existence. He couldn’t return. And yet he no longer felt that glittering certainty that victory danced within reach. He felt … outside of himself. Grasping, once more, for that hope and belief. And so he danced with Gauri not out of want, but out of necessity. In the ashram, pupils carried luck charms in their pockets or hid tiny figurines of deities all over their rooms. Vikram never understood that compulsion to hold what felt sacred. Now he did. It was the connection people craved; the feeling that touch connected them to something beyond themselves. That was why he needed to dance with her. He craved that connection to the moment when magic had snapped his reality and showed him that his destiny as a puppet was only a path. Not a promise.
Before he met Gauri, he thought that the invitation to the Tournament of Wishes marked the entrance of magic into his life. But that moment was nothing more than what it served: an invitation. Gauri was the real beginning. He knew it the moment she flew toward him, lips pulled back in a snarl, eyes black as winter and just as unforgiving. Vikram pulled Gauri to the revels. The air felt heavy and damp, as it always did during the rainy season. He drew her close until their bodies were flush. He wanted to memorize this, the way her leg pressed against his, the way strands of her hair got caught in the small buttons of his jacket. Even the way she glowered at him when he grinned. When he touched her, he didn’t feel like some thread in a tale, pulled along without will. He was something that reached out and responded. Gauri laughed when he stumbled through the movements of the dance. “You are a discredit to your title, Vikram. Fox Prince, indeed,” she said. “I’ve never seen a clumsier fox.” “What I lack in skill, I make up for in enthusiasm.” “Do you even know how to dance?” “Not at all,” he said, spinning her in a circle. “I can tell. Were you lulled by the music?” “The company.” “Now you’re just trying to be sly and charming.” “I am a credit to my title, after all.” Twice, he had pulled her so close that her gaze threatened to eclipse his thoughts. When she danced, her eyes softened. No longer harsh and winter black, but vast and … not breathtaking, but breath-guzzling. Breathdevouring. This close, her eyes shone like fragments of night sky. If he looked closer, he wondered whether he’d see stars burst into life behind her lashes. Twice, her lids dropped and her eyes traced his lips just as his traced hers. But he always pulled away in the end. He’d spent enough time with
her to guess how she would interpret a kiss. She would see it as a reckless act of bravery, a thing to be done before death. It would have been a reckless act of bravery. But not for those reasons. They danced until even the stars limped out of the sky. Only a few stragglers remained to watch the revels. A handful of hours were left between now and dawn. And at dawn, he knew that she would be up and ready to fight, so he led her away from the dance. “Finally,” she said. But he thought he heard faint disappointment in her voice. When they trudged upstairs, he took the couch at the opposite side of the room without comment. Within moments, she was asleep. One arm flung over her stomach. One ankle tucked beneath her knee. He’d never seen anyone sleep in a knot, but Gauri made the pose look like the soul of slumber. He allowed himself a single moment to wonder what it would be like to know that warmth, to rest his cheek against her bare shoulder and trace what dreams fluttered beneath her eyelids. And then he closed his mind to her. As he expected, Gauri was up with the dawn. She woke him up none too gently, but made up for it by shoving a cup of chai in one of his hands and a plate of uttapam in the other. “Ready to die?” He groaned. “I realize you’re newly adjusting to a sense of humor, but have mercy.” “Not known for it.” He raised his glass to her. “It’s never too late to start.” The world was gray and dark when they left their chambers and trudged through the grove. Gauri kept looking over her shoulder at a copse of skeletal-looking trees, one hand on the weapons belt slung around her waist. At the pool, Vikram held out his arm and Gauri quickly drew a knife across her forearm and then his. He didn’t wince when the blood unfurled in the
milky water, staining the riddle invitation scrawled across the pale surface. The water trembled. The pool sank into the earth, transforming into a set of sapphire staircases that formed a serpentine coil straight into darkness. “Well done, mortals,” called a voice from the depths.
26 THE SEVEN BRIDES GAURI I imagined that the Serpent King’s lair would look like a snake’s burrow—a hole in the ground littered with bone fragments, and shed skin boasting a phantom of its former brightness. But this subterranean palace was beautiful. At the bottom of the stairs, a large chamber sprawled out. Glassy stalactites spiraled from a cavernous ceiling flecked with bits of quartz and silver. A wave of still water covered with a thin piece of glass formed the floor. At the bottom of the stairs, I grimaced. The stairs were the only entrance and exit. If we had to fight in the middle of the room, it strained an exit strategy. Even though the room was barren, the atmosphere felt strung taut. It felt … watched. I waited. In battle, I could sometimes guess when an enemy soldier would charge out of the dark. You could feel the air gather and release. As if it had guessed what was coming next and chose to step aside. The dark unraveled: Tail. Torso. Teeth. “You came looking for a monster,” said the Serpent King. “And now you have found one.”
I wanted to take from this monster just as he had taken from the Lady Kauveri’s sister. I wanted him to be as ugly as his actions, with mottled skin and yellowed fangs, a bloated brown tail attached to a puffy torso. But when I turned around, he was anything but hideous. He was taller than any man I’d ever seen, but maybe that was because he had raised himself higher on his own serpent coil. His black hair was threaded with silver—not the dull silver that streaked hair as one aged, but actual silver. Aasha said he was descended of the demon naga Kaliya. But he was demonic only if you considered his beauty so severe that it bordered on sinister. The Serpent King moved toward us with a liquid grace before stopping and tilting his head. A knowing smirk turned his lips at the corners. “You wish I weren’t so beautiful,” he said to me. I frowned. “I—” “You have nothing to fear,” said the Serpent King, resting his gaze on Vikram. “My heart cannot be tempted from the one who possesses it.” He could read minds. Could he manipulate them? Or hypnotize? Perhaps that was how he seduced Kauveri’s sister. My hand moved closer to the weapons belt slung around my waist. The Serpent King pulled his lips into a snarl and hissed. A cobra hood flared out behind his neck, as blue as the heart of a flame. His teeth lengthened into fangs. I braced my legs, preparing for an attack. “That is what you think of me?” he said. “That I forced her hand? That I snatched her heart from her chest?” Vikram moved to my side. The Serpent King turned sharply to Vikram, and his cobra hood flattened and disappeared. “Wouldn’t you agree, Fox Prince, that if you can be more than your blood then I can be more than mine?” He turned his gaze back to me. “You may play in the Tournament of Wishes, but you sleep in the Palace of Stories. Let me tell you a tale.”
He moved forward, forcing us back a step. “Once, there was a naga with demon blood in his veins who saw a beautiful girl singing by the river. He returned every day for a year to listen to her voice until her song ran through his veins instead of blood. He revealed the secret of his own venom in exchange for the magic of a mortal name just to share the same language with her. And once he could speak, he asked her to sing in his palace beneath the sea and promised her his whole heart, poisoned as it might be. She accepted.” The Serpent King’s eyes softened. He moved forward again, pressing us back even farther. “Let me tell you another tale,” he said, so softly that it might have seemed meek. But I heard the tremor in his voice. It was barely restrained rage. “Once, there was a demon king who terrorized the river and poisoned it black until a god danced upon his head and banished him to the watery depths. The demon king learned his lesson. And he taught that lesson to every one of his descendants, down to the smallest hatchling, so that they would learn to ignore the poison threaded through their veins. His descendant fell in love with a river and the river loved him back. But no one had forgotten the deeds of his ancestors. And no one believed either him or the river who loved him.” Doubt fluttered at the back of my head. I thought back to those empty birdcages and the wings overhead, soaring and changing with every intersecting story. But Kauveri was the sister of the Serpent King’s wife. If the story wasn’t true, then why would Aasha say that Kauveri wanted his venom? Kauveri’s demand was proof of how she considered him: Untrustworthy. Out of control. Maybe she thought to free her sister from his clutches by using the venom. Maybe that was the only reason Kubera had invited him to the Tournament. I notched my chin higher as I stared down the Serpent King. I was ready to fight, but Vikram placed his hand on my arm:
“If you want us to believe you, let us speak to your mate.” Shame shot through me. What kind of person was I that I hadn’t even thought to ask Kauveri’s sister directly? My mind had instantly gone to punishment. The Serpent King tilted his head. “We used to honor such requests. And do you know what we have received every time? Scorn. Ridicule. We refuse to be subjected to the doubts of others. My mate is the river Kapila,” he said proudly. “She is stronger than every current and more powerful than the sea at its most ferocious. And yet she would have to listen—once more—to a hundred questions probing whether she was enchanted, stupefied, kidnapped and dragged down to the lair of a snake. I will not demean her so. And I will not let you demean her.” Vikram’s hand ran down my spine. His eyes flashed in warning. “Here’s another story,” hissed the Serpent King. By now, we were flush against the wall. “Once there was a demon king who stole away the beautiful river goddess and kept her as his prisoner until she was so weakened that she agreed to become his wife. That demon king would have had to break the ferocity of a river and all of her powers. And whatever pair of mortals decided to fight him would have to get through that. So which tale do you choose to believe? Don’t think I don’t know what you want. I could hear your thoughts screaming and calling for my venom the moment your feet hit the staircase.” “If you know that we’re here for your venom then you know why we need it,” said Vikram calmly. “We don’t have a choice.” “Oh, but you do,” said the Serpent King. “Choose which story to believe. A man in love or a man in lust? The wronged or the wrongful? You have the choice to believe my innocence and I will let you leave in peace. I will tell the Lord of Treasures what you have done and I will personally procure you an exit. Or you can choose to believe in the harm I caused. You can fight me for my venom, and if you win, I will give it to you. I, too,
follow the rules of the Tournament. So what will it be? Once you choose, it cannot be undone. No matter how much all of our hearts may break beneath your choice.” The Serpent King moved backward, as if he were giving us privacy. But it made no difference, since he could read our minds anyway. The more I thought about Kauveri, the more I believed that he had done wrong. Why else would Kauveri want his venom? Even Aasha had seemed disgusted with him. More than that, this might be our only chance to secure an exit out of Alaka. Without this venom, it wouldn’t even matter if we won the Tournament, because we didn’t know which of us would be allowed to leave Alaka. My mind was decided. The Serpent King eyed me coldly, and then his gaze turned to Vikram. Vikram looked less decided, but his hand never once moved from the small of my back. “I see,” said the Serpent King. His voice was silky menace. “You wish to ask my wife for the truth behind our story? Then do so. As you chose which story of me to believe, choose her. But choose wrong, and your lives are forfeit.” I didn’t understand what he meant until he moved to one side of the room. He flicked his tail against the glass floor, shattering it. Mist rose from the spider-thin cracks, pushing apart the fissures to make way for the seven women who rose out of the water. They were almost identical, but their manner of dress and jewelries varied. The Kapila River looked much like her sister, Kauveri. But there was a softness to her jaw compared to Kauveri’s sharp edges. And where Kauveri’s eyes had changed between the icy quartz of a river at dawn to the brackish brown of a river at dusk, Kapila’s eyes remained a warm and constant blue. “You have until the floor breaks,” said the Serpent King, smiling. “Oh, and I would move quickly. Because the water beneath is poisonous.” I yanked Vikram away from a fissure that had begun to spider near his foot. Little cracks spread slowly from the holes in the floor where the seven
women had sprung out of the water. I steadied my breath even as my palms began to sweat. Tread carefully. Choose carefully. That was all I could do. “Did you believe him?” I asked under my breath. “I don’t know what to believe,” said Vikram, scanning the line of seven women. “But if it was a chance to make sure that both of us would get out of here alive, I wasn’t going to waste it.” The Serpent King watched us from his corner. The seven women stood in front of us, their faces nearly impassive. Vikram stepped carefully to the first of the seven women and I walked by his side. “This one has longer hair?” he said. “That doesn’t tell us if she’s his wife,” I said. To each woman, I leaned close to her and said, “I’m going to get the venom to Kauveri. Help me and I can help you escape him.” But that changed nothing. The first had a bright sparkling stone at the center of her forehead. The second wore a collar of scales. The third had a long emerald tail. The fourth wore a dress of silver river fish. The fifth crossed her arms. The sixth rested her hand on her hip. The seventh had fangs. We walked down the line, each step damning us a little further. The mist had begun to thicken the air. The women stood utterly still, but followed us with their eyes. Vikram tented his fingers. Sweat beaded on his forehead. “It’s all just a distraction.” I raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?” “The clothes, arm positions, everything. It’s a trick. It doesn’t tell us anything about which one is his real wife.” I pressed the heel of my hand against my eyes, as if that could somehow change the sight before me. I could almost imagine the Serpent King laughing in his corner.
“They won’t respond to anything I say. I thought his real wife would have a reaction to him.” “You just gave me a brilliant idea,” he whispered. “Give me your knife.” I raised my eyebrow. “If any of us is going to be using a knife, it should be me.” “Your aim is a little too good,” he said. “Trust me.” I handed over the knife. The mist was rising fast. The floor creaked and splintered beneath us. Water lapped up the edges of the fragile sheet of glass we stood on, and the poisonous fumes stung the back of my throat. Our weight was too concentrated. All it would take was one good stomp to break the floor. “Spread your legs,” I shouted. “Rather forward of you—” “Distribute your weight or we’re going to die.” He spread his legs, stabilizing the wobbling piece of the glass floor. Holding the knife in one hand, he leaned down to whisper: “Watch their faces. Whoever is his true wife will have a reaction.” Vikram flung the dagger, aiming it at the space right above the Serpent King’s head. The moment he loosed it, the sixth woman in line let out a scream. “Her!” I pointed. A furious roar lit up the caverns, shaking the stalactites. Whether it was pain at being stabbed or frustration at being caught, I didn’t know. The mist was rising so fast that every surface turned slippery. Poison began to smoke and fume at the edges of my sandals, blackening them. My lungs burned and I choked back a cough. “Run!” I shouted. I leapt onto a slippery sheet of glass, barely keeping my balance as it careened violently to one side. I flung myself onto a new sheet, my body slamming into a piece that only just barely fit my frame. It spidered beneath
me, threatening to crack. But I was quicker. I leapt from sheet to sheet, and was nearly at solid ground when I heard a shout behind me. I turned to see Vikram not far from me, his arms pinwheeling, feet shaky. He was going to fall. I didn’t think twice about saving him. I reached out to grab him, using all my weight to push him to the shore. He tumbled, hitting the wall. I jumped to join him, but the unraveling threads of my salwar kameez snagged on a jagged edge of glass, yanking my body sideways. I slipped. Vikram reached just in time to pull me onto the floor, but not before a wave of water sloshed up my leg. I screamed. Spots of pain lit up behind my eyes. Poison sank its teeth past the silk of my pants, painting excruciating tendrils of fire across my calf and ankle. I slumped against Vikram. He wrapped his arm around my waist, hauling me toward the staircase. I blinked. Fighting to stand. To push myself up and forward, but I couldn’t. The Serpent King’s tail lashed out, but he did not block our path. The woman who was his true wife had appeared at his side, her face buried in his chest. I looked into her face, fighting down the tremors skittering up and down my body. Vikram propped me into a stand. He was murmuring something, but I couldn’t hear him. I only saw the Kapila River’s face: shuttered and heartbroken as she sobbed in the arms of the Serpent King. “What have you done?” she wept, staring at us. “Why couldn’t you just believe us?” We said nothing. What could we say? Vikram grimaced, turning from her. He half dragged, half carried me up the stairs. Pain seared my thoughts, but even through that haze I saw Kapila’s tear-streaked face and watched the Serpent King brush away strands of her hair. They loved each other. The sickly pangs of victory shot through me. Or maybe it was the poison working through my leg. I couldn’t feel it anymore. We had won this. We had an exit. And if freedom came with the price of guilt, maybe I
was already so glutted on the emotion that the taste wouldn’t register. I blinked, and Kapila’s anguish burned in my vision. I was wrong. Guilt accretes. It builds and builds, whittling stairways and spires in the heart until a person can carry a city of hopelessness inside them. My guilt was building a universe. Vikram was whispering. But his voice was coming from a thousand directions. When I stumbled, he picked me up. I didn’t stop him. At the top of the stairs, the Serpent King held out a blue vial. “Now you know the truth,” he said hoarsely. “But know this. Kauveri can banish or imprison me, but it will change nothing. You can tell her that if she cares so much for her sister she will not enjoy watching her waste away before her eyes.” My vision refused to focus. I set my jaw, my thoughts straining. I came to Alaka to free myself from guilt, not discover more. I would tell Kauveri what I’d seen even as I bartered our way out of here. I would make amends. “Gauri?” called Vikram. His voice sounded faraway. “Gauri!” I tried to focus on him, to push words from my mouth. But the pain had begun to eat into my bones. Darkness edged in from the corners of my vision right before it swallowed me whole.
27 A BROKEN SONG VIKRAM He had to believe that everything happened for a reason. In the ashram, he had pushed himself to run as fast as he could. The pupils joked that he had tucked a fistful of lightning into his sandals to aid him. Back then, Vikram thought he’d forced himself to run as fast as he could just to prove that he could. He was wrong. It had all been practice for this moment. Gauri’s head bumped against his chest as he ran. She felt too light in his arms, as if the essence of her had already begun to slip and unspool. Her lips turned blue, and Vikram’s heart slammed. Not again, he thought. Demanded. Prayed. Not again. In his hand, the blue vial of the Serpent King’s poison might as well have been a handful of blue flowers. Gauri’s pale lips reminded him of another. Vikram blinked, and felt as if he were seven years old once more, toeing the edge of a rockslide. His mother crumpled in a heap at the bottom of the rocks. For an entire day and night, he had ordered her to wake up. After that, he had hugged his knees to his chest, unable to speak because every word sharpened to a scream in his throat. He remembered the fan of his mother’s hair beneath a boulder. White, writhing insects moving over her cut arms. Her neck bent strange, face angled to the light as if she were simply enjoying the sunshine. Only this time her lips were torn and blue.
Vikram hated fear. He hated how it fed on him and stripped away his comfortable blindness. Fear forced him to hold up the contents of his heart to the light. Once, he stood over a rockslide and beheld that fear: He would be untethered. Back then, his mother’s love was a thread of unbroken light, a seam he coud follow through every moment of his life until he suddenly couldn’t, leaving him to push through the dark, make out the shapes of his future in utter blindness. Now, when he clutched an unresponsive Gauri to his chest, fear forced him to see her. Only her. It felt silly to say that he couldn’t bear to lose her. He never had her. She was not a thing to be possessed. But her entrance in his life had conjured light. And losing the light of her would plunge him into a darkness he’d never find his way out of. Gauri was pale, damp with feverish sweat. Once the poisoned water had reached her bare skin, it had refused to leave. Heatless blue flames twisted and licked their way up her ankle, threatening to burn her alive without a single plume of smoke. Vikram’s legs burned. As far as he knew, there were no healers in Alaka. Even if there were, this wound belonged to poisoned magic. There was only one group of people he knew that spent their lives steeped in poison. But would they help them? He considered bringing her straight to the vishakanyas’ tent, but it would be too easy for them to see her as wounded prey. Instead, Vikram ran up the stairs to the chamber, out of breath and heart pounding. He placed Gauri on the bed. Her lips looked even bluer. Sweat matted her hair. He brushed the strands out of her eyes, pulling a blanket over her body. Then he sprinted out of the room and straight to the tent. At high noon, the tent hummed with lazy stupor. Some patrons stumbled out of the exit, blinking at the sunshine. No guard patrolled the entrance since there was no line. Vikram took a deep breath. Maybe this was the most foolish thing he’d ever done. There was no guarantee that the poisonous courtesans wouldn’t harm him, especially since he brought
himself willingly to their territory. Maybe he’d even die here and get poisoned himself, just as Gauri had. But he had to try. He marched inside and found several vishakanyas lounging inside the tent. Two patrons sat with their heads lolled back as they stared at their desires twisting above them. One of the courtesans, a stunning woman with golden hair and dark eyes, stood up. Her eyes raked over him, lingering at his ripped pants and the nasty gash on his arm where the shattered glass fragments had cut him. Her pupils darkened in lust. Or maybe hunger. Or quite possibly both. “I need to speak with one of your sisters immediately. Her name is Aasha. She knows me.” Her face changed. “Aasha? What do you want with her?” “My—” He stumbled over the right words. “—partner in the Tournament has been gravely injured. She’s going to die from poisoning if I don’t get help.” “And you think one of us will part with our arts to care for a human?” she sneered. More courtesans poured out from unseen parts of the tent until they had formed a small circle around him. At first they looked at him curiously, eyes widened in surprise. But slowly that surprised changed. Their pupils widened. Their lips parted. He was so anxious about getting back to Gauri that he hadn’t even considered how that fierce desire would make him that much more appealing to them. They sniffed the air, cocking their heads sharply to one side as if pondering the fastest way to scrabble at his desires. “Poison is not such a bad thing, princeling,” she crooned. “Why don’t you let her die? You can have all the glory for yourself. Maybe you can ask for the second wish that would have belonged to your partner? Perhaps you can ask to be immune to us.” She stepped forward, hands outstretched in invitation. “We make excellent company.”